How do you deal with it?
How do you heal?
Everybody says, "Time".
A sixty-year-old man,
Reduced to the level of a three-year-old.
"Get the red set out of the shed", she says.
"What red set?", I inquire.
"The winter one in the trunk." she says.
"Which trunk.?", I reply.
"Please, help me find it. I'm not sure what you mean.",
Though I don't want to have to ask.
"I will follow you out to the shed."
She says it in the voice of an exasperated parent.
"Is it this one?"
"No, it is the one in the plastic tote."
The tote is located and opened.
It reveals to me what looks like gold and maroon brocade,
Folded neatly with gold sheets and wine colored blankets.
A gold dust ruffle lies atop it all.
"Is this the red set?" I ask.
"Yes, of course, what else would it be?"
I sigh, unable to express my frustration.
I feel as though I need to be led by the hand.
Unable to perceive.
Unable to understand a simple request.
I carry it all back to the house.
Preparing to put the gold dust ruffle on the bed, I am stopped.
"No! I have to iron it first!"
I walk away.
I tire of feeling in the way,
Unable to focus and understand a simple task.
Once I led men.
Once I was responsible for millions of dollars in inventory,
I cannot retrieve linens unassisted.
I am so far removed from what I once was.
I feel frustrated and incoherent in comparison.
"Time", they say.
"Give it time."
"Be patient with yourself."
"What's wrong?", she asks.
"Nothing.", I reply, "Nothing at all."